


now that i see you

by virere (myosotises)



Category: Grey's Anatomy
Genre: "all at once everything looks different / now that i see you", Christmas, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Not the tags again, Pretty sure this is just basically fluff, Slow Burn, They're just drinking whiskey and wrapping presents nothing major, This is after snowblind so 16x15, and it's, doesn't exactly fit the bill for slowburn but that's alright
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:02:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28499508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myosotises/pseuds/virere
Summary: He shakes his head, a laugh escaping him as he reaches for her to stop her from walking down the rest of the hall. Fingers brushing the inside of her wrist, he tugs her back a couple steps to the intersection, where they can see the main desk on the wing. “Look there, Grey. You see those presents under the tree?”She raises a brow, glancing at him—he can see it, the new interest in her gaze. “Your work?”He didn't exactly plan on staying late.
Relationships: Meredith Grey & Cormac Hayes, Meredith Grey/Cormac Hayes
Comments: 4
Kudos: 34





	now that i see you

**Author's Note:**

> Title's kind of random because I couldn't figure anything out but here we are: an unexpected Christmas fic :) Inspired by [this twitter thread](https://twitter.com/NotAnSvuFanPage/status/1341842671246172163)! This is generally set somewhere between Snowblind and Leave a Light On

“Hey, Grey. I heard about—” Cormac loses his train of thought as soon as he steps foot in her office, eyes landing on the mess sprawled across the desk to the side. “What are you, uh, doing?”

“Wrapping my kids’ presents.” She lets out a sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose as she slumps back in her chair, correcting herself, “Trying not to throw my kids’ presents across the room.”

He stifles a laugh, shifting his weight against the doorway. “Having trouble with that, are you?”

“Shut up,” she grumbles, dropping her hand to give him a scowl. “My husband was the gift-wrapper. He came from an actual family, he knew how to do all the Christmas stuff.” Her fingers flit over the crumpled wrapping paper dismissively. “And Alex took over after that, but he decided _now_ was when he wanted to disappear to God knows where. Just in time for December.”

“Shepherd and Pierce?”

“Amelia’s operating and Maggie’s home, plus I didn’t tell them—I was trying to hold out. Thought I could figure it out for once, but, well.” She gestures at her desk again, turning her frown on the disarray.

“Meredith Grey’s one big weakness is wrapping gifts. Who would’ve known?” he muses, suppressing his grin as she glares at him. “It’s fine, Grey, your secret’s safe with me.”

“ _Thanks_ ,” she says dryly, “Why are you here again?”

“Heard about your extended surgery and thought I’d bring you some coffee to keep you going.” Cormac looks over the clutter piled onto her desk as he moves closer, amending, “Granted, I thought you’d be doing paperwork, and not, you know, losing a fight against a sheet of gift wrap.” He holds out the cup. “Pick-me-up?”

She plucks it out of his grasp, eyebrows lifting. “Tea, actually, when it’s this late. But, um, thanks. I’ll need it to get through _this_.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” It’s an absent comment, but he hears the hidden implication as soon as the words leave him; that there’ll be another time. He clears his throat, dropping his gaze to the contents strewn across the tabletop—then he starts laughing, seeing the misshapen lump shoved away to the corner, covered in what might as well be an entire roll of tape. “God, were you trying to suffocate that thing?”

“You think you’re hilarious,” she says, ignoring the question.

“A little,” he concedes, the corner of his mouth tilting upwards. There’s no bite to her retort. “I also think you’re lucky you have an expert right in front of you.”

“Ha ha.” It’s only when she looks at him again that genuine surprise appears in place of her indifference. “What, is everyone in peds automatically good at that?”

“You learn with the specialty,” he jokes, before adding, softer, “And Abby couldn’t wrap anything to save her life.”

Grey’s expression shifts, the lightness slipping into acknowledgement. “At least you ended up on the other side. You’re not waiting on a vanished friend to come fix your mess.” Her tone is still blithe; there’s no pitying remark, no empty condolence, as he’s learned to expect—and readily appreciate. She was good at that, at knowing when to ask and when to let him dwell.

“Maybe not,” he admits, “But I’m waiting on a vanished co-chief.”

“Right.” Her voice sobers, absent of the laughter he’d become accustomed to. She isn’t even looking at him, a furrow to her brow as her stare drifts to the cup of coffee in her grasp, fingers drumming distractedly along the sleeve.

Cormac hesitates for a moment—it’s a definitive step beyond the usual melancholy widow talk—but he makes up his mind, tapping a hand twice on her desk to get her attention. “Come on,” he says, nodding over to the door. “I still have some things left over for my patients on the floor. We can go there for what we need.”

She sits up, meeting his gaze incredulously. “You’re helping me?”

“We _are_ friends, Grey. Unless you’re waiting on me to vanish too?”

“Funny,” she says, though the coolness in her tone is belied by the amusement dancing in her eyes; despite the deadpan response, she’s getting up from her chair. “What do we even need, exactly?”

“Wrapping paper.” He crosses his arms, trying not to smirk. “Your lot’s younger than mine, yeah? They’ll like the actual colours and patterns and all that, believe it or not.”

She scoffs, stepping around him in a deliberate move. “Paper is paper. They’ll rip it off either way.”

“It’s still the _principle_. Nobody likes a boring gift,” he replies, already anticipating her indignation. He’s gratified when she whirls around to face him again, lips parted.

“My gifts are not _boring_.”

“Just the packaging, then?” he says, grinning as she gives him a dirty look.

“Being your friend is bullshit,” she announces, lifting her cup of coffee as she eyes it in disappointment. “Why didn’t you bring me something stronger to deal with you?”

“Ah.” Another piece to the full puzzle, falling into place. He laughs, glancing over at her as they leave the office. “Well, I might have something to help with that too.”

* * *

“You know, for someone who hasn’t even proved they’re worth as much as they say, you have a lot of comments,” she shoots back as they get off the elevator, “For all I know, you’re all talk and my kids are going to be disappointed anyway.”

“Oh, we can’t have that—it’s a good thing they won’t be, yeah?” Her expression remains unimpressed and he chuckles. “Just know that if my boys still believed in Santa, they wouldn’t be finding out the truth from the way their gifts are wrapped. I’m a professional, remember?”

“Still sounds like talk to me.”

He shakes his head, a laugh escaping him as he reaches for her to stop her from walking down the rest of the hall. Fingers brushing the inside of her wrist, he tugs her back a couple steps to the intersection, where they can see the main desk on the wing. “Look there, Grey. You see those presents under the tree?”

She raises a brow, glancing at him—he can see it, the new interest in her gaze. “Your work?”

“Mostly—I recruited some interns, but I did also have to teach the ones who had no idea what they were doing.” Smiling slightly, he draws his stare away from the Christmas tree, back to hers. “I could teach you too. Save you from having to find a new peds chief every time December comes around.”

“Believe me, Derek’s tried.” There’s a story there, nestled under all the fondness and familiarity in her voice. “You’re welcome to try, though, if you want to stay even longer in this place. Try, and fail.”

His smile widens. “Noted.”

“And I was _not_ looking for someone to solve my problems, especially someone from peds,” she continues decisively, turning to him again, “Nobody made you offer to help.”

“No, I just did it in the spirit of Christmas,” he says in agreement, holding up the mysterious—and _sad_ —package from earlier, probably half-laminated with the amount of tape keeping it together. “And the goodness of my heart. I mean, this? Just sloppy, Grey.”

Her laugh is bright, loud. He’s glad to hear it, though he’s also glad it’s late now, the floor largely empty and the majority of patients asleep. “Where’s this something stronger I was promised?” she asks as he lets her into his office, “I didn’t come here to be insulted on my technique.”

“ _Schmitt_ has better technique than you,” he counters, closing the door behind them. “You could do better if you just let me show you.”

He can already see her eye roll, even before he sits down at his desk in front of her. “You’re relentless.”

“It’s for your own good.” He’s smirking as he unlatches the filing cabinet—finally pulling out the amber bottle he’d hidden in there a few weeks ago—but it turns into a smile as he sees the surprise written across her face.

“ _Hayes_ ,” she marvels, astonishment veering towards open delight. “You’ve had this locked up in here this whole time?”

“Saved, really,” he says, setting it onto the wooden surface of his desk with a heavy clunk. “From any nosy Americans. Learned that lesson in Zurich.”

Mirth flashes in her eyes as she pulls the whiskey closer to her, tilting it back for examination. “She has a way of sniffing things out. Alcohol included.”

“That she does.” The response is quick, though he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t tempted to ask—Yang hadn’t been particularly shy with her stories from this hospital, but the specifics of the whole _twisted sisters_ bit had remained unclear. And he’ll admit he’s curious, from the way Grey lights up every time the surgeon is mentioned.

But puzzles came in fragments, not as a complete picture.

“So,” he ventures, picking out the box of Lego from the stack of gifts Grey had brought with her. “Who asked for the bricks?”

She snorts, looking up from the whiskey with a smile. “Bailey. He’s up all the time these days, but _the bricks_ can distract him long enough to sit down. Even if it means he’s always leaving pieces everywhere for us to find.” Her eyes flick to his, the curl of her lips lifting higher. “It’s easier to buy more than to have to dig them out from behind the couch. Or under his bed.”

“Has he tried combining it with Play-Doh yet?” he says, holding back a laugh as her face falls. “Cleaning that up is even more fun than stepping on ten different pieces on your way to the door.”

She grimaces, pushing a glass towards him. “Thanks for letting me know.”

“I thought you’d appreciate the warning.” He picks up the drink, angling it in her direction before he takes a sip. He’ll blame the burn of alcohol down his throat for his automatic glance back at her as he turns his attention back to the objects laid out before him, for the smirk pulling at his mouth as he speaks. “Take notes, Grey.”

* * *

By the time Grey reaches the bottom of her glass, two presents sit in front of them, newly joined by the third he sets down—rewrapped and freed from a prison of adhesive plastic. He’s keenly aware of her gaze as it settles on him, almost carrying a weight of its own.

“What?” he asks, keeping his voice light as he settles back into his chair, lifting his drink to his mouth.

She doesn’t answer immediately. “Your whiskey was unopened,” she observes, fingers dancing along the rim of her glass. “When you handed it to me. It was unopened.” It’s a question, even if it isn’t phrased as one.

He takes in a breath. “Well, it’s no fun to drink alone.”

A pause. Then she hums, leaning off the armrest as she places her empty glass onto the desk. It feels like another question, buried under the lilt of her voice—or an invitation for one. It feels like he’s standing out in the snow again, pale moonlight reflecting across the ground as he asks his own invisible questions.

“You know,” he says, “I haven’t told anyone else—about the whiskey. And I don’t have very many glasses in my office.”

Her eyebrow arches upwards—and he’s worried for a moment—but the action is teasing. “Can’t have any more nosy Americans finding out?”

“They have a habit of becoming freeloaders,” he clarifies, grinning as she shakes her head. There’s a smile curving along her lips.

“Seems like a fair deal,” she says, getting up. “You keep my secret, I keep yours.”

“Nobody will ever know how you got your gifts to be so nicely wrapped,” he agrees, tipping back the rest of his drink before he mirrors her gesture. He holds out a hand as he stands. “Pleasure doing business with you, Grey.”

She looks back at him as she takes it; her grip is sure, steady. And her eyes are green, he realizes, not blue. Not that he’d paid particular attention, but you couldn’t _not_ look at someone when you were operating. He’d never really noticed before, under the fluorescence, an O.R. table between them. They’re subtler here, in the muted light of his office—not as vivid but clear, intricate. _Green_.

He inclines his head, clearing his throat as he lets go. “You’ll know where to find a drink, if you’re ever looking for one before you get out of here.”

“I don’t count as one of those freeloaders?” she teases.

“Oh no, you definitely are,” he says instantly, glancing over to the pile of presents. Grey laughs, gathering them from his desk. “But your company isn’t terrible.”

There’s a trace of humour to her gaze as she adjusts her grip on the gifts tucked in her arms. “No fun to drink alone?”

“Not when it could be with a friend.”

She’s nearly left the room when she turns back around, stalling by the doorway. “Thank you,” she says, and the words are soft, without any of the—however faint—undertone of tension she’d had all night. “I didn’t say it earlier, but thanks. For all of it. You didn’t need to help.”

“I know,” he says, simply. Her eyes catch his—still unclouded, still _brilliant_ —and there’s a flicker of a grin to her mouth as she nods again.

“Night, Hayes.”

Then she’s gone and he’s alone in his office, left with a roll of wrapping paper, a pair of empty glasses, and a smile of his own.

_It helps, to have a friend._

_It helps me too._

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this was a new experience. I wasn't planning on writing anything for Christmas but I sort of took this concept and ran with it! Was hoping I'd get away with posting before 2021 hit but I tend to write more slowly so that didn't really work out haha. Sorry if they're a little more out of character in this, I didn't have much of an idea when I started typing and given the shorter timeline it might just be a result. Also threw in the first whiskey date in there because I needed the fic to go somewhere although the actual thing probably happened in between seasons for canon. Hopefully you enjoyed (if you made it this far) and happy holidays! Feel free to tell me what you think :)


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